


Acquainted With the Night

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Bronze Age, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Head Librarian of Gotham Public Library Barbara Gordon meets elusive demonologist Jason Blood for (almost) the first time.  Naturally, all Hell breaks loose (or at least a small part of it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acquainted With the Night

_I have been one acquainted with the night.  
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.  
I have outwalked the furthest city light._

_I have looked down the saddest city lane.  
I have passed by the watchman on his beat  
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain._

_I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet  
When far away an interrupted cry  
Came over houses from another street,_

_But not to call me back or say good-bye;  
And further still at an unearthly height,  
O luminary clock against the sky_

_Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.  
I have been one acquainted with the night._

_\--Robert Frost  
_

The Head Librarian of the Gotham Public Library walked through the deepest vaults in the building, winding her way between the shelves of books.  Her red hair was pinned back into a bun, her emerald eyes framed by large dark-rimmed glasses, her athletic frame sheathed in a severely cut dark green suit.  The library stacks towered around her, and she ran her hand lovingly, lightly along the books as she made her way along them, enjoying the feel of their leather-and-gilt spines beneath her fingers.

The room she was in was the deepest, most secure in the library, filled with rare and valuable books.  It was very difficult for any member of the public to gain access to this room;  scholars around the world dreamed of the chance to study here.  Today it was silent and empty.

The head librarian came to a smooth marble wall.  She touched an ornate brass light fixture gently and a section of the wall swung open silently to reveal a marble stairwell winding downward.

Barbara Gordon stepped into the true depths of the Gotham Library.

In the deepest room, the light was dimmer and almost seemed to flicker, like the candlelight it most certainly was not.  Barbara scanned along the shelves, looking for one of the tomes that were kept locked down here.  Then she frowned suddenly, her eye caught by a book bound in midnight-blue leather, silver letters along the spine:  _Chymische _Flitterwochen_ Christiani Rosencreutz._  She put out her hand to pull the book out--and found her hand touching another hand on the other side of the stacks.

Startled, she jumped back;  the book slipped from its shelf and she leaped forward to catch it.  When she straightened she found herself facing the man who had come around the bookcase to look at her.  He was tall and and his dark auburn hair had a streak of pure white that ran back from his brow.  His dark brown eyes, oddly sad and haunted, eyed the librarian with the book in her hand.  "Good catch," he said politely.

"Thank you," Barbara said, looking away from him to the book.  "This shouldn't be here," she muttered.

He crossed the room to her and took it gently from her hand.  "This shouldn't be anywhere," he said, his sharply winged eyebrows rising. 

"I've heard of The Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz, the alchemists' tract, but not the Honeymoon."

He looked at her levelly.  "It doesn't exist."  She gave the heavy, quite tangible tome in his hand a pointed look, and a sudden smile broke on his face, easing the melancholy like a flash on lightning in a stormy sky.  He hefted the book.  "Nevertheless, it does not exist."  The smile faded from his face as he looked at her more closely.  "Have we met?" he asked.

"I would think I'd remember having met you before," Barbara Gordon said with a smile.

: : :

Four years ago:

Batman and Jason Blood are standing in a museum in front of a shattered glass case that still holds five of seven medieval artifacts.  "You're sure this was le Fay's work?"

Blood raises his hand and traces some shining symbols in the air in front of the case.  "I'd recognize her taint anywhere, Dark Knight."  His eyes light briefly on the young woman in black standing behind Batman but he doesn't seem to notice her otherwise, and Batman does not introduce her.  "You'll keep me posted if your investigations turn up anything?"

"If you'll do the same."

A small smile that doesn't reach his eyes.  "Of course."  He turns to go and calls back over his shoulder, "Good hunting."

"You too, Jason."

His bitter laugh echoes around the hall as he leaves.

In the Batmobile after, driving back, Batman breaks the silence.  "Don't even think about it."

"About what?"

"About him.  He's older than he looks."

Barbara remembers the look in his eyes that made her shiver, but she still scoffs.  "I'm a big girl."

"He's got a demon inside him."

The woods flow past the car windows, dark and dangerous.  "I think I've had some practice dealing with men with inner demons."

Batman makes a sound that could be a laugh.  "Not like this one."  He looks over at Batgirl.  "I'll tell you more about it when we get back to the cave.  You might run into him again someday."

: : :

"No.  No way."  Head Librarian Gordon shook her head emphatically.  "I'm not going to let some stranger take a book--a book that doesn't exist--home with them."

Jason had the book open on a table and was leafing through it, his hands infinitely gentle on the crackling vellum pages.  He stopped at a page covered with arcane symbols.  "This book's slipped through from another dimension for a reason.  Someone has called it here.  And that someone will be looking for it."

"The library has excellent security."

"Not against the kind of burglar I'm talking about.  Besides--"  He shot her a brief, mirthless smile, "--it isn't in your records, so it doesn't belong here anyway.  I can keep it safe, Ms. Gordon."  He looked up from the book and met her eyes squarely.  "Please trust me."

Barbara sighed.  "Am I going to regret this, Mr. Blood?"

A shadow moved across his face:  old grief, recent sorrow.  "People usually do.  But I think it's your best choice right now."

She hesitated, but she'd already made up her mind before he even suggested it.  "Very well."  He nodded--almost a bow--and stood up with the book.  "Wait," she said as he turned to go.  "You're going to keep me updated about that, right?  I mean, I think you owe me that much."

Jason pursed his lips, looking reluctant.  "I shouldn't...get you involved," he said softly, but she could feel his desire to have a confidante like an arm around her shoulders.

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Blood."

He frowned--not at her, but as if arguing with himself--then sighed.  "I promise I'll come back and let you know what I find out from studying it."

"How about Wednesday?"    


"I'm not sure how much I'll know in just two days."  


"Over dinner?"

A long pause in which Jason was very still.  "If you'd like."

She smiled then.  "I'd like that."

After he was gone, Barbara finished finding the book she had originally come for, then went up the stairs again, humming to herself. 

Barbara Gordon had learned long ago that whether literal or metaphorical, men with demons needed to be dealt with the same way:  assertively.

: : :

The line sang beneath her fingers, the wind sang past her ears, Gotham sang all around her, its siren song of darkness and chaos and life.  Batgirl flew between buildings, smiling because no one was around who needed to be frightened of her at the moment.  She released the grapple and dove into freefall, breaking out at the last possible second, the wire in her hands humming and throbbing like a lover.  The darkness held no fear for her, fear was her tool against evil, the heart of the city she turned on its predators.  Gotham was her sister.  They worked together.

Batgirl flew through Gotham.

Her patrol took her past Jason Blood's penthouse, lights burning in the darkness.  She resisted the temptation to look in on him, crouching instead on a nearby building.  She flung a friendly arm around the gargoyle beside her, scratching its head.  "Batgirl's an idiot," she whispered into a cold stone ear.  "Asking centuries-old men on dates, don't you think that's a bit forward?"

The gargoyle apparently had no opinion on the matter.  His granite gaze remained fixed on Blood's penthouse.  She followed it just in time to see a dark robed figure slip from the window, carrying something.  Behind it, a cry of rage and a man leaped onto the fire escape after the figure, bare-chested and carrying a broadsword.  Jason Blood.

Batgirl sprang after the robed burglar, heading him off at the edge of a building.  He shoved at her as she swung to intercept him, surprisingly strong, and she released the line and tucked into a roll across the roof, turning her fall controlled.  Jason came at the thief with the broadsword, dancing away lightly as the burglar produced a morningstar and swung at him with it, smashing into the rooftop.  Batgirl sent a batarang singing toward the burglar, connecting with the back of his neck and causing him to stumble forward;  the broadsword neatly severed the chain connecting the morningstar's spiked ball to its handle and glanced along the thief's wrist.

Impressive broadsword.

The thief cried out and threw up a hand.  A blast of sickly green light smacked Jason in the face and he staggered backward, going limp and plummeting off the roof.  Batgirl was in the air before he even fell, catching him and lowering his unconscious body to the street before hurrying back to the top of the building.  The robed figure was gone and a quick scan of the surrounding buildings revealed nothing.  Batgirl peered down to where she had left Jason.  He was gone too.  She got back to her gargoyle perch in time to see him re-enter his penthouse, moving a little gingerly but seemingly without major injuries.

"Good work, girl detective," she muttered irritably to herself before starting up her patrol again.  She didn't really want to face Jason as Batgirl;  it would make interacting with him as Barbara that much more difficult later.

Like Jason and his demon, it was easier to keep these things as...separate as possible.

: : :

"The book is gone?  I gave it to you and it got stolen the same night?  I thought you said it would be safe there!"  The irritation in Barbara's voice was unfeigned, although she was unsurprised to hear that was what had been stolen.

"Whoever it was got past my wards.  I was alerted, but not in time to stop them."  Jason Blood glowered at her.

Barbara pushed her glasses up on her nose and gave him her best Head Librarian look, guaranteed to freeze the marrow of anyone who had ever loved a book.  "I expected better from you."

His mobile lips quirked slightly.  "Does this mean dinner tomorrow is off?"

"No.  But it means you have to pay now."

"I would have paid anyway."  He looked slightly hurt.

"How very chivalrous of you."  The image of Jason bare to the waist, whirling like a dervish with his broadsword, came back forcibly to her mind.

He seemed to find the choice of words rather amusing as well;  brown eyes glinted at her.  "Well, the good news is that I managed to study the book enough to figure out that there are two more non-existent texts that need to be consulted before the reader can do...whatever it is he wants to do."

"Oh?"  She gestured to the chair in front of her desk and he sank into it.

"The second is the Sefer Uriel HaMalach.   The Sefer Raziel HaMalach is a--"

"--a Kabbalistic text detailing the wisdom and teachings of the angel Raziel, I know," Barbara said absent-mindedly.

Jason nodded gravely.  "Of course you do.  Apologies."

"A text dedicated to the teachings of the Angel of Death sounds a bit--"

"--ominous, yes," Jason said grimly.  "Wait until you hear the name of the last tome that's been brought here."  He paused.

"You're not going to say the Necronomicon."

His eyebrows shot upward and he grinned--an honest, delighted grin.  "Good guess!"

"Mr. Blood, that's a fictional book.  H.P. Lovecraft made it up."

He steepled his fingers.  "Some say that every fictional work is real in another dimension.  Suffice to say the Necronomicon is real somewhere...and it was brought to this plane."

"To what purpose?"

He grimaced.  "I don't know yet."

She kept her tone skeptical.  Barbara Gordon, Head Librarian of Gotham Public Library, did not believe in magic.  "And how do you intend to found out the purpose, or locate the documents?"

He bit his lip.  "I have some access to...arcane arts, Ms. Gordon."

She let her eyebrows arch rather primly.  "Honestly, Mr. Blood, I don't know how much you're just putting me on."

"I'm telling the truth."  For once, his tired eyes seemed to say, and Barbara's heart turned over, but Ms. Gordon was unconvinced.

"I'll believe it when I see it."  She made it into a challenge, and his chin came up a bit.

"Come to my place tonight and you will."

She pounced before he could rescind the invitation.  "Done."  A flicker of chagrin in his dark brown eyes, but she pressed on ruthlessly.  "When should I show up?"

"Midnight is the usual time for such things."

"I'll be there, then."  He stared at her and she laughed.  "You're thinking that I bring out the worst in you, aren't you?"

"No," said Jason Blood as he stood to go.  "That wasn't what I was thinking at all."

: : :

She rang the doorbell at eleven-fifty sharp.  Jason opened the door and led her to an old-fashioned elevator that ascended to the top floor, opening into a room of wonders.

Barbara couldn't help it;  she stepped forward with a breath of awe.  "Jason," she said before she remembered they weren't on a first name basis yet.  "This is--this is--"

The penthouse was crowded from wall-to-wall with priceless arcane artifacts:  crucifixes, small jeweled caskets, statues in strange poses, daggers and crowns.  The walls were hung with dozens of paintings, all of them of the same subject:  a handsome, arrogant man, his red hair touched with white.  They were done in the style of great masters--Barbara recognized a Raphael, a Rembrandt, a Klimt, and a Munch before looking away, overwhelmed;  she knew they weren't in the style of the artists at all.

"Welcome to my humble abode, Ms. Gordon," Jason said wryly.

She collected herself.  "I'm impressed."  He smiled at her for a second, the warm and conspiratorial smile of someone who knows you value what they do.  Then he beckoned her into another room.

It was a sitting room, nearly empty except for a sofa piled with pillows, an end table, and a pentagram traced on the floor, pale yellow candles burning at each point.  Barbara frowned.  "Are you sure this is safe?"

Jason snorted.  "This is never safe.  But tonight I'm only summoning a very minor, information-gathering spirit.  A small spy from Limbo, not even a demon."  For a moment his shoulders sagged.  "The last time I summoned a more major demon, the results were...unfortunate.  Aclys is not a dangerous spirit.  But," he said, shooting a look over his shoulder, "You probably should keep silent."  


"Damn straight," grumbled a voice from the sofa.  Barbara looked over and saw nothing there but upholstery.

Then one of the tan pillows winked at her.

Barbara blinked as the pattern on the pillow resolved into a human face.  The pillow was apparently made of...skin.  "Yeah, baby," grumbled the pillow.  "I'm what's left of the last idiot who wanted to hang out here while Jason did his little hocus-pocus thing."  The pillow's eyes flicked to Jason.  "Buddy, I think you can understand I'd rather be in a different room during this."

"Sure thing, Harry," said Jason absently.  He picked up the pillow and carried it politely to another room.

"That pillow was talking,"  Barbara pointed out when he returned.  Ms. Gordon the librarian would be totally disoriented by this, of course;  Barbara Gordon was forced to admit that she found it rather off-putting herself.  


Jason grunted.  "My old friend Harry Matthews.  He was here when I summoned Belial one time.  Ended up a seat cushion for the Lord of Hell for a few years."   


"You're joking."

He cast her a sardonic look.  "Sure you don't want to go home?"

She grit her teeth.  "All right, I'll grant you that all this is real and serious if you'll stop trying to send me home like a good little girl."

Jason made a non-committal noise and pulled his turtleneck over his head, static crackling through his red and white hair, revealing an expanse of muscular skin.  Barbara swallowed and the demonologist grinned at her.

"Is that really necessary, Mr. Blood?" she said as austerely as possible.

"Would you rather I claim I have to be stark naked for it?"

Yes.  "Of course not."

"Well, such spells do work better with less between the caster and the magic.  But I think I'll keep my pants on."

"Thank you," she said primly, and he flashed another smile before turning back to the pentagram.

The ritual was very simple and not terribly ominous;  Aclys was indeed a rather unintimidating spirit when it arrived, a small shape of light and smoke.  "Master Blood wishes the information?"  it hissed politely.  "We owes the Master for favors done, we do.  We forget not, no."

"There have been three books of power brought to this plane from another recently."

The spirit seemed to rub misty hands together.  "True.  It's true."

"I need to know to what purpose, and where they are."

"The priest, he has all of them now.  We feels the power in the air, through the city.  Tastes like carrions and treacle, it does."

Jason made a gesture.  "Where?  And to what purpose?"

Aclys whined and bent in half, making a mandala of its movements.  It whispered something that sounded like a name, then abruptly snapped out of existence.

Barbara wanted to ask questions, but waited until Jason squared his shoulders and turned back to her, his voice heavy.  "You'd better go home, Ms. Gordon.  This is not going to be an easy night."

"Tell me what he meant.  What was that name?"

"I believe--before someone sundered the summoning--Aclys was trying to tell me that the priest is trying to summon a Lord of Hell to Gotham.  A minor Lord, but one still powerful enough to destroy most of the city.  The demon of criminal insanity."

Barbara couldn't help but laugh a little.  "And what better city to bring such a demon to?  It should feel right at home."

Jason looked grim as he scooped up his turtleneck and pulled it back on.  "He'll have more power here than in other places.  The real problem is that Aclys didn't have time to tell me where the summoning was going to take place."  He looked at Barbara.  "Where in Gotham would be the ideal place to summon the demon of criminal insanity?"

They bolted for the elevator simultaneously.

: : :

Arkham Asylum loomed in front of them, as always seeming to lean at impossible angles against the moonlight.  "Ms. Gordon, this is going to get dangerous.  Seriously, you should go home."

"Really, by now, I think you can probably call me Barbara."  She didn't bother to answer the rest of what he'd said.  Then she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his briefly in the shadow of Arkham.  It wasn't quite a kiss.  "For luck," she said to his look of astonishment.  "And in case I don't get the chance later."

"Barbara," he said, testing it out.  "All right.  Let's go."

A flick from his fingers and the guards didn't even see them walk in.  "Handy, that," muttered Barbara.

"Indeed."

The basement of the Asylum was as dark was one would expect of the focal point of evil derangement in Gotham.  Cobwebs brushed against them and small things chittered around them in the darkness.  From far away above them Barbara could hear someone laughing, high and thin and entirely disconnected from reality.

"I've got my wards up this time," Jason said very quietly.  "They won't be able to catch us with magic."  They pushed on through the darkness cautiously, the thin and wavering radiance from Jason's hand their only light.

Barbara smelled the sickly-sweet scent of entirely mundane sleeping gas a moment too late.  She heard Jason choke out a curse in something that sounded like archaic French before the light in his hand went out and the darkness closed in around her body and her mind.

: : :

The darkness backed off slowly.  Her hands were tied behind her back to a wooden support and there was a gag in her mouth.  In front of her, another pentagram, this one drawn in blackish-red liquid.  On the other side of the pentagram, Jason Blood was similarly gagged and tied to another beam.  His eyes were already open;  when hers met his there was a brief flicker of amusement:  We seem to have gotten ourselves in a bit of trouble, haven't we?  His calm made it a little easier for Barbara to assess the situation, to push away the claustrophobic panic that Arkham always bred in her. 

The robed figure from the night before stepped into her field of vision, lighting the last of the black candles.  He raised his hands and threw back his cowl, revealing a narrow face and tangled black hair:  no one Barbara had ever seen before.  Stacked next to him were three books:  the midnight-blue one Barbara had found in the vaults, a thin volume bound in what looked like white lambskin, and a thick tome bound in a flaking beige leather that Barbara knew, if the legends were true, was human skin.  The priest flung out his hands and began to chant in a language that started off in Latin and shifted into something Barbara had never heard before, something guttural and mangled that made her flesh crawl.  The stench of magic and evil in the room gathered, became so thick even she, mystic-blind as she was, could taste it.

Barbara stopped working on her restrained hands and stared working on the gag instead. 

They were going to need more help than a martial arts expert.

The priest finished his incantation, his head flung back in ecstasy.  "The gates are open, Lord!"  He cried.  "I have prepared the way and brought You food to slake Your hunger...come to me now, oh Great Lord!"

Shadow coalesced in the center of the pentagram and slowly formed into a tall figure, gathering from the feet up.  It seemed roughly humanoid, dressed in a dark blue robe, two spindly purple-skinned arms sticking from its torso.

The top of the figure formed.  It had no eyes, no face.  It was merely a gargantuan mouth filled with blocky teeth set at impossible angles to each other and to reality.

The being held up its arms in victory.  "I am Baytor!" it bleated.  Then it advanced on its priest, drooling happily.

The priest stumbled back a step.  "Lord, no!  Your food is over there!"  He pointed with a shaking arm at his two captives.

"I AM Baytor!" explained the demon cheerfully.  Its voice was entirely different this time, light and careless as a little girl's.

The demon reached over and bit the priest's head off with one bite.

As the headless torso spouted gore, Baytor rolled the head around in its maw thoughtfully, like a hard candy.  Then it tossed the head upward briefly--the priest's sightless, shocked eyes stared at Barbara for a moment--caught it deftly from the air and began to crunch on it.

Through her nausea, Barbara managed to worry her gag free.  As the demon masticated its treat with relish, she shot a look at Jason.  He was trying to form words through his own gag, but couldn't articulate through the cloth. 

There was no time for explanations.  "I'm sorry, Jason!" Barbara called across the pentagram.  She lifted her voice above the smell of blood and the sound of crunching.  "_Gone, gone, O form of man..."_  Jason's eyes widened above the gag.  _"...arise the demon Etrigan!"   
_

__Dark brown eyes shifted into crimson;  the Demon broke his bonds carelessly and stepped away from the pillar to face Baytor.

But he gave Barbara a wink first.  


Baytor threw its hands up in a welcoming gesture.  "I am Baytor!" it announced in a basso profundo rumble.

Etrigan sighed and flicked his cape over his shoulders to fall more neatly.  Then he addressed the other demon.  "Baytor, you may be my chum--but into Gotham do not come!  This city's mine, it is my turf, and I alone know its true worth.  So although we may be good friends, it's at this point your rampage ends!"

Baytor tilted its slug-like purple head to the side.  "I...AM BAYTOR?"  it said with a quizzical tone.

"I shall repeat:  my friend, beat feet."

Barbara had continued working at the ropes on her hands, although what use she was going to be in a demon grudge match she wasn't sure.  They loosened and came free as the purple demon shrugged.  "I am BAYTOR!" it cried, and raised his arms.

All around him the shadows of Arkham thickened and solidified into beings of sentient insanity, about the size of cats.  The leapt at Etrigan, scrabbling;  he knocked most of them aside but one fixed razor-sharp fangs in his calf.  He hissed at it as scores of others came at him.

Groping around, Barbara came up with a two by four with nails stuck in one end.  She struck at the black blob gnawing on Etrigan with all her might, repugnance and rejection strengthening her blow, and it exploded into teeth and shadows.  She smashed a couple more and found herself back to back with Etrigan, the heat from his body against her shoulders.  They both lashed out simultaneously and squashed two more bits of shadow.  The rest backed off, waiting.

"...I am Baytor!"  the other demon announced, sounding distinctly peeved.

Etrigan cleared his throat politely and spoke over his shoulder to Barbara.  "I hate to sound like a contrarian, but you are not a mere librarian!"

Another blob came at her and she splattered it into ichor.  "There's no such thing as a mere librarian, Etrigan," she said. 

His laugh was like steel scraping over granite and made her hair stand up on end. 

Baytor was staring at them, as much as something without eyes could be said to "stare."  "What now, Demon?" Barbara asked tersely.

She could hear his fierce grin in his words.  "You give these minions a distraction--and I will fight the main attraction!"  The demon sprang forward at Baytor, declaiming as he did so.  "This isn't personal, my pal;  You're my friend through fair or foul.  But listen, Baytor--mark me well!  It's time to send you back to Hell!" 

Barbara continued to strike at the gibbering bits of darkness;  her back to the fighting demons, she heard terrible rending noises.  "I am Baytor!"  yelled the demon, its voice indignantly hurt.

Etrigan grunted and a wash of heat stung Barbara's back.  Torn and charred pieces of vellum and parchment wafted past Barbara;  Head Librarian Gordon winced.  Etrigan continued, "Now don't return, or pick a fight, until you've learned to be polite.  Or else I'll have to make a note to shove your teeth right down your throat!"

There was a long silence.  One brave candle remained to cast a flickering glow around the basement;  by its light Barbara mashed the last of the solidified lunacies out of existence.  Behind her she heard a plaintive voice:  "...I am Baytor..."  It sniffled wretchedly and faded away.  The aura of evil insanity faded with it, leaving only the normal insanity of Arkham all around her.  Ah, normal Arkham insanity.  Barbara was exhausted and splattered with ichor, but she almost laughed.

There was a blur of motion behind her and she suddenly found herself against a wall, Etrigan's huge hand wrapped easily around her mouth and windpipe.  His crimson eyes blazed merrily and his mouth opened to reveal dizzying rows of very sharp teeth.  "Now shall I make of you a meal?  And will you struggle, will you squeal?"  Ruby-bright eyes stared at her, seeming almost to burn through her;  she glared back with as much spirit as she could muster against a Lord of Hell.

Etrigan's smile widened, which she would not have thought possible.  He seemed very pleased about something.  "Let not my toothy grin affright thee;  It's suffering that doth delight me.  And soul-felt agony's an art that always warms this demon's heart."  The hand lowered her back to the ground almost gently.  "To kill you now would leave diminished...a masterpiece as-yet-unfinished!"  The demon tilted its head to the side and its smile went, for just a moment, somewhat wistful.  "And what is more (I do not lie)--we're kindred spirits, you and I.  A soul of fire, burning clear--you hold your liberty most dear."  Its voice dropped and it drew closer;  Barbara felt brimstone sting her nostrils and went very still, closing her eyes.  "So spare some pity, then, for me..."  Lips grazed her cheek like burnished brass, "...Encaged in flesh, who once flew free."

Etrigan released her, sighed, and nodded.  "I know it well, accursed spell."  He turned his back on her and recited:  "Gone, gone, O Etrigan.  Resume once more the form of man."  As he spoke his massive shape dwindled, his voice softened, and soon Jason Blood was standing with his back to her, staring down at his hands.

He whirled to look at her, then drew near.  A wry smile crooked the corner of his mouth.  "I should have known you were a creature of the night," he said softly, reaching out to cup her chin.  His thumb grazed the place where Etrigan's lips had touched and she shuddered, wondering if the kiss had left a mark.  He glanced around the shattered cellar.  "I take it the forces of...slightly-less-evil won the day?"

"Jason."  Her voice cracked and she started again.  "Jason, he said...he said something strange to me.  Do you remember...anything?"

He shook his head, his hand still caressing her face.  "I never remember anything beyond vague flashes."  He paused, as if trying to pull a memory up.  "I do have the impression that he was...rather attracted to you."

"Ah."  Barbara's mind mercifully failed to fully process that information.  "How unfortunate that you and the demon have nothing in common."

This time his thumb brushed across her lips and she shuddered again, this time with a far different emotion.  "I've never claimed that," said Jason Blood.

She pulled him down and kissed him again then, there in the Stygian depths of Arkham, his lips warm and jaded against hers.  The last guttering candle went out, but she only deepened the kiss, pulling him closer.

Barbara Gordon was never one to fear the darkness.  



End file.
